


Tired of Death

by TESfangirl



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Skyrim, Original Character(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26300812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TESfangirl/pseuds/TESfangirl
Summary: A short, gentle episode between an injured  assassin and a man offering to help.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Tired of Death

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of Bethesda Softworks, who created this fascinating world! I’m in no way associated with Bethesda, and no copyright infringement is intended. This is purely for entertainment, just playing in their world a different way. 
> 
> Thanks also to Tamriel.org, where I had massive fun getting the hang of Tamriel’s ethnic names and am using some good ones I found there.
> 
> This is my first fanfic, please be kind! Does not follow any plot line in games.

Bleeding, hurt and on the run, Marelle slipped into a barn she’d seen off to the side of a field. There were a few farms in this area and with the animals around she hoped they would provide some cover until the coast was clear. 

She’d set her injuries as best she could, then settled into a pile of hay, burrowing down to hide more. That damned new apprentice. He’d screwed up massively and she’d almost been killed trying to pull him out of it. They were the assassins, and the fool had to proudly announce his presence before making his kill. The amount of mercenaries that had descended was unbelievable for a slave trader scum. She wondered who paid for them. She was lucky to get out of there alive. She had no qualms about leaving the rookie to his fate, it had been his fault and if he was captured or killed, so be it. She’d tried to warn him.

The hay, while not the most comfortable, was warm and Marelle’s eyes unwillingly drooped. Maybe she should quit the Brotherhood and join the Thieves Guild. With her stealth and skill set, she thought she might be welcome there. Or maybe she’d die there alone, like she’d been most of her life. She tried valiantly to stay conscious, but soon she drifted off into blackness.

She awoke with a start. Sunlight was streaming into the barn. Her bandages had been changed, both on her arm and leg. Her boots and gloves were off and had been placed neatly next to her. Her weapons were still on her. Marelle was trying to stand when the large Nord walked in.

“You can’t stand yet!” was the first thing out of his mouth when he saw her, hurrying over to her. The assassin was surprised – he must know what she was, decked in her armor and hood. Yet she let him lay her down on the hay again and watched as he checked her bandages. It was curious to watch him frown as he looked over her injuries, made some tut-tut sounds and then brought her the tray of food he’d been carrying when he entered. His hand dwarfed hers when he gently lifted her arm to check the wound. It was sheer luck that the thrown dagger had only just caught her arm, leaving a gash instead of puncturing it completely. She must have been more injured than she realized, to have been found at all.

“Who are you?” she rasped, looking directly at the Nord. His eyes were the color of a summer sky, clear, against his roughed skin, shaded by the sun. His dark red hair was slicked back and gathered at the back. He was dressed in farmer garb, but Marelle couldn’t quite reconcile ‘farmer’ to the large, muscular man.

“A friend, for now,” he replied. He put her arm down and looked right back at her. Marelle was half Nord, half Altmer – she was used to stares, with her Altmer shape and pale skin. But her hair was brown, with brown eyes, which is why she kept it short. She knew her appearance gave pause to everyone she met. “I think you should rest here today, and you can be off tonight,” the Nord said. “The scrapes are healing nicely, and there’s no search party looking for you.”

Marelle was relieved, and the Nord could see her posture relax. “Why are you helping me?” she asked. The handsome Nord smiled. “You need help,” he said. “Oh don’t worry, I know what you are - I’ve seen that armor before. And I heard about the incident a few miles from here.” The Nord shook his head. “Fenrar wasn’t a good man, he had it coming.” The man had dealt in slavery, capturing Khajit and Argonians to smuggle out of Skyrim to those people who still practiced it. Despite all his hired help to protect him, he’d still gone down. The Nord had tried in the past to sabotage the slaver, with only partial successes. He was almost thankful to the assassin for ridding Skyrim of him. 

Marelle nodded. “Thank you,” she replied. She accepted the tray, breaking off some of the bread and cheese to offer the Nord. He smiled. “Sure, I’ll be a taster. No poison.” He took the bites and popped them into his mouth. Marelle smiled, and suddenly felt ravenous. “This is delicious.”

The Nord smiled again. “I made it myself.” At Marelle’s questioning look, the Nord continued. “Well, I made the bread. I live alone now, so I learned how to bake. My wife died two years ago.” 

“She must have been young,” Marelle replied. The Nord didn’t look that old. Still on this side of middle aged, at the oldest. He looked weary, but not physically. 

“Yes, too young.” The Nord had a faraway look in his eyes before he closed them. “She died with our daughter, a day after she was born.”

Marelle tilted her head, eyes sorrowful for this man. Just because she was an assassin didn’t mean that she didn’t enjoy seeing innocent children out playing, laughing. She rather envied them for it. For this man to have lost both wife and child at once must have been agony. 

“I’m tired of death,” the man said. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

Marelle looked thoughtful. “I haven’t really thought about it,” she answered truthfully. “I just follow the contract.” But did she get tired of it? Sometimes she did, she realized. There were times when she wished she could enjoy the day and not be sent on contracts. She eyed the Nord. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. “But sometimes,” she added, “it would be nice to curl up next to a fire and have nowhere you need to be.”

She hesitated before continuing. Her stomach was full, she felt warm and oddly comforted by this handsome Nord. “But I’ll never have a life like that,” she said ruefully. “I’m half Altmer, half Nord. My mother was raped by a Thalmor and carried me unwillingly. As soon as my father was posted back to the Summerset Isles for his indiscretion she sold me. She was killed not too long after that by a bandit raid. I don’t even know my father’s name, only what my mother told me in anger. People like me… do not have normal lives.”

The Nord stared intently at her. Gods, she’d said too much – revealed more about herself than she intended. The man reached out to cup her chin, and rubbed her face with his thumb.

“Half Altmer, half Nord… and all beautiful,” he said softly. He leaned in closer. Marelle held her breath. He gave her a whisper of a kiss on her lips. He looked surprised, and suddenly stood up. “I’m sorry,” he said, backing up. “I’ll leave you alone, but please stay to rest before you leave.” He made his way out of the barn.

After he left, Marelle suddenly felt cold, and lonely. His kiss had sparked feelings in her she thought had gone. She was surprised at herself, letting him touch her. But she still felt safe with him. She fell asleep with thoughts of the handsome Nord in her head.

When she opened her eyes again the sunlight was faint, and dark streaks were vaguely painted against the sky. Marelle stood slowly. She could put weight on her leg, and her arm didn’t seem too stiff. She’d carefully exited the barn and was just turning to leave when she caught a glimpse of the small farmhouse, and movement in a window. The Nord was at home. 

Heart went to war with mind. She knew she should leave, but her heart yearned to see him one more time. She spotted the tray he’d left, still next to her. Yes, the least she could do was to return it.

The farmhouse door was open, so she let herself in. The farmhouse was pretty, yet sparse. A feminine touch was slowly eroding to the plainer sensibilities of its sole occupant. The furnishings were old, sturdy. Marelle dropped her hood and mask, and moved to the second room, where she’d seen the movement. The Nord was sitting in a large chair, next to a shelf filled with books. There was a small fire in the fireplace, giving the entire room a rosy glow. He was whittling something while sitting. Without looking up, he called out to her. 

“You didn’t have to come.”

“I wanted to thank you for your help,” Marelle said. “I’ve left the tray near the basin.” She looked at the piece of wood slowly taking shape in his hands. “What are you making?”

“Something for a special someone.” He held out the carving. Marelle could see the petals of a mountain flower in his hand. Not quite finished, but enough detail to see it would be beautiful when done. 

“It’s lovely,” she said. Her voice sounded wistful. The Nord wasn’t immune to her tone. He stood and approached her, holding out his hand.

“It’s for you,” he said, taking her hand to wrap her fingers around the carving. “It’s not finished, but I know you have to go. You could always come back and I’ll finish it then.”

The assassin looked at the carving in her hand, then at the Nord. His eyes were kind and soft, the large bulk of him comforting to her. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at her like that. She started to tremble, overwhelmed by his gift and his words. She was his special someone. Gods, she must have lost a lot of blood because she was feeling faint and a little dizzy, she thought, as she tried to steady herself.

The Nord saw her tremble and he put his arms around her to support her. His heart pounded to have her so close. He half carried her to the sofa and sat them down to get her off her feet. He leaned her back into the cushions, as she looked directly at him, eyes wide. Their eyes locked for a few moments before her gaze dropped to his lips. “My name is Marelle,” she said. And then she kissed him.

The Nord froze for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her with a groan. “Marelle,” he said softly, as he bent his head over her shoulder. “You… you are the first woman to make me feel this way since my wife. That’s why I left so quickly earlier. Are you sure?”

Marelle held him tighter. “I want to love you.” And she kissed him again, this time deep and penetrating. He met her demands, and soon hands joined tongues in exploration of each other.

Armor and clothing were unbuckled and untied, the Nord and the assassin hungry for each other. The Nord worshipped Marelle’s body, caressing each curve and mound, until she felt herself tense, pleading for relief. He was so big and strong, yet so gentle. Her lover smiled and continued his wonderful torture, until he reached her womanhood, where he stopped to place himself between her thighs. Marelle lifted her legs to enfold him in her legs, her fingernails scratching at his back and torso. She kissed his lips, his chin, his neck. He felt her tongue and teeth on his ear when he positioned himself against her. “Yes,” she moaned into his ear. “Please.”

The Nord needed no further invitation and drove into her. He let out a groan when he heard her intake of breath. She felt so good around him, warm, tight. Her throaty moans in time with his thrusts spurred him on, intoxicated by the fact he was giving her such pleasure. Marelle’s face was shining from the intense movement, lost in the moment. He felt so good, it felt so good to be making love, and not be used by someone for their own pleasure. This Nord was taking his time to give her and her body what she needed, and Marelle loved him for it. She surrendered her soul to him for the love, kindness and caring he gave her.

She surprised the Nord by sitting up with him still inside her, and pushing him on his back. She kissed his neck and his chest, desperate to return in kind the love and care he’d given her. She ground her hips against him, and felt victory when he let out a loud groan, with his breathing coming faster and faster. “Marelle, I can’t hold on much longer…” he panted, the strain of holding himself back showing. Marelle leaned back and pushed him in all the way, and put her fingers between her thighs to play with herself. She could feel that familiar tension building, and let out a deep throated moan. “Oh… I’m going to…” With an effort worthy of his race, the Nord held himself back until Marelle let out a shout as she stayed atop him, and her inner walls gripped him in waves. She had him trapped beneath her and he released himself with a matching yell, emptying his seed in her several times before he was spent.

They came down from their high together, wrapped in each other’s arms. Both were surprised at what happened. Marelle felt peaceful, cared for and loved. This Nord was a good man, and even near the height of his passion he made sure she was with him every step. For his part, he had not been with a woman since his wife, and had doubted that he’d ever feel like that again. He felt a little guilty, but looked at Marelle and knew he would do it again, given the chance.

They lay like that for some time, keeping the other in the circle of their arms as long as possible, when the Nord fell asleep. Marelle marveled that she didn’t even know his name. She got up quietly to put her armor back on. She should really be going, before dawn broke. 

As she was getting dressed she saw some letters nearby, and had a look to see if she could discover his name before she left. The first one she picked up made her blood run cold.

It was addressed to Imperial Commander Tobias Firebrand from Commander Maro, warning him of Dark Brotherhood activity in the vicinity, and reiterating that he’d be welcome back at any time, if only to exact vengeance for the deaths of his wife and daughter. She’d heard of Firebrand, but had never seen him.

Tobias Firebrand was once a fierce warrior, and had actually brought the Dark Brotherhood nearly to the point of extinction. But the Brotherhood leaders had been on a mission to eliminate the Commander. They’d killed his wife – she didn’t know that they’d killed his daughter, too. Tobias had been able to fend off the attack on him, only to find his family dead. He’d been so grief-stricken that he’d quit the Legion, handing over the task to Commander Maro in Dragon Bridge. Tobias then dropped out of sight. The Brotherhood had considered it a victory, as he’d been sent off the field, broken. That had never sat right with Marelle. They were assassins, of course they’d be hunted. She could not agree with the deaths of innocents.

And Marelle was horrified to learn that they’d taken the life of the baby – a newborn. But even after all this, Tobias still saved her life. And loved her. She shook her head, not fully understanding the man who’d become her lover. No wonder there was no search party there, she thought. He probably just sent them away. They would never think Tobias Firebrand would be consorting with an assassin. He did say he was tired of death, she mused. But seeing her armor must have caused him pain. He’d recognized it for what it was. 

Tears sprang to her eyes as she looked tenderly at the sleeping Nord. He was truly beautiful, both inside and out. She wished she could kiss him awake and stay in his arms. She did not regret for one instance being with him, being his. It had been glorious, and she reveled in the fact that she could love and feel loved in return. She picked up the unfinished wooden flower and tucked it safely away. One day it would be finished, she promised them both. Until then, she would dream about him. But she had a new duty now. She lightly kissed the top of his head and stole away into the night.

Some time later Tobias woke to an empty house. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. Marelle had touched his heart like he never thought could happen again. When he’d found her in the barn he thought she was dead. A year ago he would have made sure she was dead. But when he got closer and saw all the blood on her – it made him feel sick to his stomach. He knew there was a search party looking for her – one assassin had been killed while being apprehended. By his ranting during the arrest, he was the one who had actually done the hit. The second one could have been watching or … trying to stop him. It was unclear. Usually two didn’t get in so close, if there were two at all. The victim should’ve been marked for only one. 

The unconscious assassin in his barn had left blood stains in a few places. He’d found her right away. With her unusual look, he’d recognized her right away. There weren’t many half-Altmer assassins around.

Marelle Alersen was one of the best assassins in the order. The Legion knew her name and some of her actions. She was very hard to pin down despite her unusual look. She had killed a swindler, a contract by people who had lost nearly all their money. They’d pooled what was left of their money together to get their revenge. After the deed she’d returned what money and belongings she could find, not taking a septim more than what the contract paid. On another job, she’d rescued some orphaned and abandoned children, after killing the necromancer who’d kidnapped them and some other children whose parents had some money. She’d led them all to the gates of Riften before disappearing. Then last night had been the slaver. 

But what had really touched him were the dried tears he’d seen on her face. She’d been crying in her sleep, as if the nightmares she was having were too much for her. She looked frightened and vulnerable. He’d tugged her hood down and smoothed her hair. He’d started when she awoke a little and murmured, ‘Papa? Is that you? Why did you leave?’ before settling back into slumber. His heart had gone out to her. He knew her backstory. He’d never admit it, but there had always been a soft spot in his heart for her. Everything he’d learned about her pointed to following her own code of honor. She didn’t just follow contracts, only took the ones for those she believed thoroughly deserved to die.

So instead of turning her in, he took care of her. He’d been surprised at his reaction to her after she’d woken. But the urge to kiss her after her outpouring had been so strong, and he felt disloyalty to his wife – but not disgust. That’s why he left her alone. But then she’d come to him, and broken his resolve. And she had felt too good to resist. For someone who dealt in death, she’d been warm, passionate and loving. They’d both felt the spark between them.

He looked around the room as he got dressed. And saw something new on his desk.

An ebony throwing knife had pinned the letter he’d received from Maro onto the desk top. The design was intricate, and definitely not his. She’d read the letter, and knew who he was. His heart skipped a beat. She could have killed him in his sleep, but she didn’t. 

He looked at the second sheet, which had a short scrawl on it. 

‘Tobias,

Your wife and daughter will be avenged. You have my word.  
My flower is beautiful, but will keep you to your word.

M.’

He held the letter against his heart. She was going to bring down the Dark Brotherhood for his family. For him. 

After a few moments of thought, Tobias picked up a quill to send a missive to to Dragon Bridge. He’d left the Legion to mourn his family. He’d now rejoin them and face death again to help keep Marelle safe. For now he knew that he loved her. And he’d look forward to her return.


End file.
